Blood Oath (The Darkest Drae Book 1)

by Raye Wagner

  That’s you. You’re doing that, Irrik spoke in my mind.

  I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face. I clambered up and stretched, standing on my tiptoes to stare through his curved talons at the beauty I’d brought to Verald. We flew in a circle, from zone to zone.

  Every one that I’d visited was flourishing.

  We soared higher. There was still so much barren brown. Occasionally, I’d spot a garden or cluster of gardens that held the same verdant qualities of the Quota Fields. I rested my cheek on his scaly hand, and when Irrik dropped lower, I recognized the homes Mum had taken me to. To help her move dirt.

  I swallowed back the fierce burning in my throat.

  It’s right that you miss her.

  “She lied to me about everything.” What did he know? My heart ached for her, and at the same time I felt the sting of betrayal. “She made you kill her.”

  Perhaps not for the reasons you think.

  I wasn’t an idiot. “I know it was to protect me, but she still lied. I don’t even know if she was my real mother.” I felt hurt and betrayed still, but mostly I felt sad. I wanted to talk to her about what was going on. I wanted to hear her laugh. I wanted her wisdom.

  You know she loved you. That should be enough for now.

  “For now?”

  He didn’t answer, and all too soon we turned back toward the castle. As we got closer, I saw horses lining up far below, the silent Druman in their navy aketons leading them. Between the horses, a single carriage sat awaiting its occupant, door open and ready. One of the horses nickered, drawing my attention, and a Druman sheathed a wicked blade in his scabbard next to the warhorse.

  Pressing my hands to Irrik’s Drae skin, I asked, “Where are they going?”

  Irrik shielded me from his thoughts. Like closing the folding panels in his room so no one could see into his private quarters, only he was shutting me out.

  Where are they going? I thought at him, feeling a little foolish.

  We dove toward the courtyard, and my breath caught in my chest.

  His muscles bunched and twitched, and I closed my eyes, tensing for the bone-crushing impact. Then I was falling. The bloody Drae had dropped me. I was pummeling toward my death. I opened my mouth to scream, but my voice was trapped. My heart pounded, and I berated myself for ever trusting him. Irrik was the enemy, and this was probably just some form of—

  I opened my eyes in time to see Lord Irrik snap into his human form as he hit the ground in a roll. Before I could blink, he was up and running.

  I crashed into him, and he absorbed my force as we fell to the stone path. I lay sprawled on top of him, panting to catch my breath. “You need to work on your passenger landings.”

  He pulled me up next to him. Be brave today.

  I turned to him with a jerk of my head, but his chiseled features were cold, and my questions never left my mouth.

  “Lord Irrik,” Irdelron drawled. “Your timing is impeccable. I noticed you flying this morning. Is everything in motion?”

  “Yes, my liege,” the Drae said, inclining his head.

  “Excellent. And my dear Phaetyn, your efforts are coming along nicely.” King Irdelron smiled as though his compliment were sincere, but the gleam in his eye said otherwise. He waved his hand, beckoning someone. “I’ve asked Jotun to accompany you to the fields today. The two of you are already well acquainted, so I expect you’ll be productive in his company.”

  Dread filled my soul, and my knees trembled. Jotun was going to kill me for knocking him out with my chamber pot. I looked around in panic as my torturer advanced, grinning and carrying a whip. Irrik was drinking from a water skin, ignoring me. The king turned away and barked orders at another guard.

  Irrik stepped between Jotun and me, facing the Druman. “If you kill her, she’ll be no use to the king or the land. Not that you care or are compelled to listen to me anymore, but Irdelron will be livid. Who do you think he values more out of the two of you?” He turned to me and shoved the water skin at me. “Don’t forget to drink while you’re out there. You need to be able to spit, Phaetyn.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, unsure if there was a hidden meaning in his words. Maybe he was just giving me the water skin.

  The Druman mounted their horses, and Irdelron yelled something to Irrik that made the Drae’s earlier words clear and my mouth go dry.

  “Let’s go, my Drae,” the king said. “It’s time to hunt our enemies.”

  No! They were hunting the rebels? Why now? Blood drained from my face, leaving a buzzing sensation behind. Why did this happen when I was so close to freedom? Irrik turned to me and then away as he stood apart to shift into his Drae form.

  Jotun ushered me in the opposite direction, but I kept twisting to look behind me until Irrik’s black form was out of sight.

  Jotun hadn’t touched me while Irrik was still in view, but the crack of leather announced Jotun’s confidence that the Drae was now far enough away. The sting of the leather strip ripped through my thin shift and into the skin on my back. Hate was not a strong enough word for what I felt.

  Jotun grabbed my arm and yanked me forward on the road toward the next field. As soon as I recognized our path, I wrenched free from his grip. He rewarded me with another lashing, but the sting of the whip was worth it to have him not touching me.

  As I walked across the blackened ground of Zone Seven, I wished Irrik would burn Jotun to a crisp. I’d love to see his face shriveled and scorched from the Drae’s fire. I wanted Jotun dead.

  My back would be a map of his ministrations within the next hour, and if he kept it up, my strength would drain, too. If the rebels came for me today, I had to be ready to run and have the energy to fight. Too many more lashes, and I wouldn’t be able to do either.

  The whip cracked against me again, and an almighty roar rocked Verald. Jotun raised the whip for another go, but he blanched and swung about, searching the skies.

  Courage swelled with the sound of the Drae, and I couldn’t help gloating. “You know Irrik will find out, Jotun,” I said. “If not Irrik, I will be sure to tell the king about your mistreatment later. You can flay me now, but you’ll be dead by sunrise if you keep at it.”

  His face twisted, and I crossed my arms over my face as he whipped me again.

  The threat was worth a shot. He must be a bit sour over the chamber pot thing. Maybe I’d try the garden hoe trick on him and see if it worked. Ever since my being a Phaetyn was revealed, Jotun had taken extra precautions not to come in contact with my blood. It’s probably why he was using the whip and not his gloved fists.

  We turned right as we reached the vineyards and entered the infertile fields of Zone Eight for the day. I took off my boots and socks and squished my toes into the ground. Carrots. The answer came to me unbidden. Sure enough, a quick search confirmed there were a few green and yellow carrot tops scattered about the pale dirt. The fronds were limp and weak.

  I set to work, going between the nearest water source—which was a well between the two zones—and the Quota Field I was working on today. Jotun stood halfway in the middle of the six fields I had to lug water between, monitoring my progress. When I had to pass him, I gave him a wide berth. The king had taken all my usual “helpers,” and by the time the sun was high in the sky, I’d only watered a third of the fields with my Phaetyn juice super fertilizer because of the distance to the well. Whenever I bent down to fill another bucket with water, I cast my gaze over the surrounding rolling hills, searching for my friends, wishing for my escape.

  How would Cal do it?

  When would he do it?

  As the sun began to sink in the sky and I reached the last row of the carrot field, I gave a weary sigh and dusted my hands. Clearly, today wasn’t the day. I wondered if the sight of Irrik in the sky had scared them off. Waiting until the king had stopped his hunt would be wise, but how long would that take? Weeks? Months? Would there be a rebellion left by the time he was done?

  I trudged back
across the six fields, past Jotun with my empty pail, keeping more than a dozen feet between us so he didn’t add to the wounds on my back. They’d healed hours ago, but the muscles still ached, and I had no doubt the back of my sleeping shift was a bloody, tattered mess. I set my bucket on the ground and lowered the pail down into the well, covertly checking that Jotun was still three fields away. I didn’t trust him; he could easily sneak up on me when my guard was down. Pulling up the pail from the well with a muffled groan, I tipped the water into my bucket, taking the opportunity to lean against the well’s rocky wall for a brief rest. Taking a few breaths, I blinked at the blurry surface. I’d need to get a drink of the nectar before my next pass. My fatigue was starting to affect my vision again. I rubbed a “clean” part of my hand over my eyes and knelt to sip from the bucket.

  The surface of the water rippled.

  I frowned and peered at the ground. Tiny granules of dirt were shuddering. As I watched, they began to jump around, and I could feel the reverberation in my feet.

  I raised my head as a pounding noise sounded in the distance. Forgetting my pail, I straightened, stomach leaping into my mouth. I scanned the horizon in a circle. In my periphery, I noticed Jotun standing several fields over and doing the same.

  Now the smaller stones were joining the surrounding dirt, shaking and bouncing off the ground.

  Then I saw them.

  I covered my mouth with both hands as I stared past Jotun at the waves of rebels pouring over the rolling hill just by the field I’d worked that day. At the front . . .

  “Arnik!” I gasped. This was it. They’d come for me!

  Between me and my freedom with the rebels stood six fields, and, more importantly, the Druman Jotun was in the middle. Anger flashed across his face, and he ran toward me.

  The bucket tipped back into the well, and my pulse pounded in my ears as I searched the ground for a weapon.

  Several rocks were in the dirt, and I scrambled to find one I could use. My palm scraped against the sharp edge of a stone, and I tugged it free of the dirt. The rough edge came to a wicked point, and I pressed the tip into my palm until my skin broke and my blood covered the edge of the black stone. The rebels had just reached the far side of the carrot field. Jotun was far ahead of them, and fast. He covered twice the ground they did in the same time. Half Drae. He’d be able to cart me away over his shoulder before the rebels even reached me.

  His eyes were blazing with a wild edge, and I knew he’d read my intention to resist. I dug my toes into the ground and got ready to throw myself to the side. The roar of the rebels, at least two hundred of them, made my heart thunder, and their courage pulsed with each beat. They were here for me. I would do this.

  This was my chance. Tyr’s chance. Ty’s chance.

  Jotun’s arms pumped by his sides as he drew closer. Twenty feet, ten feet . . .

  His hand blurred, and my eyes widened as the leather of his whip sliced toward me. I’d forgotten about his whip. I raised a hand in front of my eyes and shouted as pain burned across my forearm a second later. I dove to the side, some part of me remembering to get out of his trajectory despite the pain.

  Rolling in a cloud of dust, I gasped and opened my eyes even as I jumped to my feet. But Jotun had stopped, still ten feet away from me. I glanced down and saw the end of his whip wrapped about my forearm, the other end in the dirt.

  He lunged for the loose end, and I yanked my arm back, drawing the end to me. Jotun straightened with a growl and came for me.

  I wasn’t fast enough to use the whip.

  The air whooshed out of me as he dropped his shoulder and bouldered into my stomach. We crashed to the ground with a force that had me seeing stars. Still clutching the rock in one hand, I wiped at my face with the other. My blood dripped onto my shift, and as Jotun drew his gloved fist back to deal a blow that would certainly finish me, his gaze took in all the blood, and he hesitated.

  “That’s right, Jotun,” I slurred. “My blood kills Drae.”

  The world blurred, and I remembered all the times this beast had hurt me. He’d nearly destroyed me. Every single one of my horrific memories could be linked to him. My hands shook with the need to rip his life from him. The roaring wave of pounding blood crashed in my ears, and in its wake, the steady beat calmed my heart.

  Jotun’s gaze met mine, and when I smiled at him, his eyebrows pulled down in confusion for a fraction of a second before his eyes widened in horror . . .

  As I drove the sharp edge of the rock deep into his side.

  The effect was immediate. Jotun threw his head back and an inhuman roar escaped his lips, echoing his pain as my Phaetyn blood attacked his Drae nature. The sound was a gurgling mess, unable to be more without a voice. He writhed on the spot, caving in on himself, limbs contorted in agony.

  I staggered to my feet, still clasping the rock, and ran toward the rebels. Tears coursed down my cheeks as I saw their faces—focused, hopeful, determined.

  “Ryn!” Arnik yelled.

  I aimed for him, my hope giving me strength to pump my legs harder than I thought possible.

  “Arnik!” I was going to make it. A powerful elation burst within me like a dam had been released, and I sobbed with abandon at the sight of my salvation.

  Just as a shattering roar split the air.

  Cold horror ripped through me with the force of a hurricane. Terror blanketed the valley, and every living thing held its breath in a brief moment of silent dread of what was coming. From behind the rebels, the harrowing black form of the Drae rose in the distance. Some of the rebels turned to look, and their screams broke the silence. Beating his wings, Irrik covered the distance at a furious speed.

  No one could outrun such power, and all the power of the Drae was sworn to the king.

  “Run!” I screamed at the rebels, waving my hands, imploring them to heed my words. “Run!” I sprinted for Arnik. “Run, Arnik. He’ll kill you all!”

  Whether it was my horrified screams or their own survival instincts, the rebels began to scatter in all directions as Irrik roared high above.

  All except Arnik.

  My chest burned for air as I sped toward him, panic propelling me faster than I’d ever moved before.

  Irrik circled once, and dozens of rebels changed directions as he herded them back into the open fields. Then he lined up with the field full of rebels, a molten glow building in his exposed chest.

  Dread filled me. His reptilian eyes found mine in that moment, and I screamed, “No, Irrik. Please, don’t!”

  But the Drae answered only to the king.

  He reared back and then threw his head forward, jaws gaping as flames shot from between his fangs. The inferno raced across the sky, blazing toward the rebels. The conflagration would swallow them all.

  Arnik was in the firing line. The world blurred as I crossed the distance to him.

  The heat was blistering, and a second after I’d wrapped myself around Arnik’s frame, fire licked my back. I screamed at the scorching heat, yelling words to Arnik in an indistinguishable torrent as the fire seared my open mouth. Hold on, Ryn, I begged myself.

  I had to hold on.

  As consciousness slipped from my grasp, I rested my head against the back of Arnik’s neck. He’d always been my friend. Would I ever see him again? Then darkness filled my vision, and I crumpled into his arms.

  Hold on, a familiar voice whispered.

  28

  I groaned, rolling onto my back. My head was pounding. What happened?

  Screams and the roar of fire echoed in my head, and flashes of the inferno burst across my eyelids. The field! My throat tightened. The rebels.

  The stench of char singed my nostrils, and my throat felt raw. I rubbed the blurriness from my eyes and stared up at dark stones and pale phosphorescent light I knew all too well.

  I was back in the dungeon.

  “No,” I wailed, rolling from my bed. I fell to my knees. “No!”

  The tears caught in my throat
, and my chest heaved as I knelt in the middle of my dungeon cell. It didn’t work. My head bowed, pictures flashing behind my eyes of the consequences of my failure: burning bodies, the acrid smell of molten flesh, moaning screams of hundreds.

  A sob escaped, and I pushed trembling fingers to my mouth, my body convulsing with the weight of my guilt.

  The king’s force had left in the opposite direction of Jotun and me. How . . . ?

  I closed my eyes as realization dawned on me.

  A ploy. The king played us. They’d gone in the opposite direction to lure the rebels out. The king threw out bait, and they’d bitten, coming out in droves.

  Tears trailed over my cheeks, and I choked out the worst part, “I was the bait.”

  I sucked in breath after breath as the horror settled on my shoulders. I couldn’t breathe. Arnik, I thought. Had he survived? Had Dyter been there? Cal? Had I desolated the entire rebellion because I couldn’t bear my enslavement?

  I screamed wordlessly, scratching at my head as I saw how selfish I’d been. Hundreds of people died for me. I pounded the sharp stone floor with my fists, feeling no relief even when my skin split and blood covered the floor. I would never, ever forgive myself if Arnik had died.

  Time passed, and when I’d exhausted myself, I toppled onto my side and wept. How was I even alive? I’d felt the heat on my back. I’d seen what Irrik’s inferno could do with my own eyes. It laid an entire Harvest Zone to wreck. He’d torched a field full of potato crops without lifting a finger.

  I’d healed myself. How much time had passed?

  I remembered Irrik’s words: Be brave today. I sat up, a new awareness hitting me with fresh revulsion. He hadn’t reassured me against Jotun. Irrik’s desolate behavior from the night before the attack now made perfect sense. He’d known what would happen. He’d been forbidden from telling. Someone had betrayed our plans to the king.